Animal
by write-love-latte
Summary: The mating ritual was supposed to give Draco his sanity back. Instead, he is left plagued by the desire to claim—and potentially kill—his mate. Of course, he'll have to find her first. DMGW, lemons, werewolf!Draco, R
1. Chapter 1

Animal

**Summary: The mating ritual was supposed to give Draco his sanity back. Instead, he is left plagued by the desire to claim—and potentially kill—his mate. Of course, he'll have to find her first.**

******Author's Note****: There's a lemon in this chapter that involves bondage and has slight non-consensual undertones. It's not _really_ non-con, but some might interpret it that way. I don't condone tying people up against their will, nor do I condone non-consensual sex. If you are sensitive to such things, then turn back now.**

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Narcissa Malfoy said softly, her blue eyes glazed with unshed tears. She raised a hand to the glass of the one-sided window she peered into, transfixed on the scene within. That hand, like the rest of her, seemed to have aged. The bones stood starkly beneath the thin, white skin. Fine veins were visible just below the surface, as if the stress of the past year had made her transparent. Victory against the Dark Lord had taken five long years of battle, and perhaps they had all grown old in that time, but for Narcissa, the past year had probably been the hardest.

"No," Harry Potter agreed, his voice pained as he shared her view, "This should never have happened." He stood next to her, solid and tall, carrying his grief in his hunched shoulders. Somehow, the slim matriarch seemed much stronger than the famous Auror; her back was perfectly straight. She faced the tragedy that had befallen her and the whole wizarding world head on, just as she had done every day since the Last Battle.

Ginny Weasley stood with Hermione Granger toward the back of the small, dimly lit room. She avoided the light of the window, afraid of what she would find if she stepped into it and cursing her cowardliness. Like Harry, this was not the first time Hermione had visited; the bushy-haired Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic looked tired and stern, but she gripped Ginny's forearm gently. "You don't have to look," Hermione confided, but Ginny heard what Hermione didn't say. _You don't have to look, but you should._

Narcissa turned to glance at Ginny. The woman had arranged her face to show no expression, but even from the shadows Ginny could see the flash of hope in her eyes. The deep wrinkles of Narcissa's previously flawless face, made deeper by the bright light of the room behind her, and the streaks of grey that shone against her blonde locks spoke of a woman who had forgotten what hope felt like. It was that brief moment of guilt that allowed Ginny to overcome the fear that had kept her rooted to Hermione's side.

She choked back tears the moment she took her place next to Harry in front of the window. Harry placed his hand on her shoulder as if to comfort her, but Ginny hardly felt it. Her heart seemed to have stopped as the gravity of what she was seeing washed over her. Head spinning, she pressed her eyes shut, resting her head against the glass as she bit back sobs of horror.

"He's just as much of a hero as any of us," she heard Harry say quietly. She crumbled to the floor.

The man within the bare, empty room just past the window bore little resemblance to the Draco Malfoy Ginny remembered. In fact, he resembled more of an animal than a human. Both of his hands were restrained behind him, secured on a long chain to a hook on the floor. Completely naked, he crouched with his head between his legs, frothing at the mouth and baring his teeth. A long, thin scar stretched over one eye, from forehead to the top of one cheekbone; on his neck, shoulder, and arms the unmistakable remnants of vicious bites reminded her of why he had been reduced to such a state. But it was the look in his eyes that made Ginny want to retch with misery. Those wild eyes held not an ounce of humanity, much less of sanity, in them.

"He must be kept like that," Narcissa explained, as though in a daze, "Otherwise he will kill himself."

* * *

Ginny brought the cup of tea up to her lips with shaking hands. She gulped a mouthful down, even though it burned her mouth. She was seated between Harry and Hermione in one of the many salons of the Malfoy Manor. The room was lushly decorated in icy tones of blue, silver and white, and a vase of fresh lilies sat, impeccably arranged, on the coffee table in front of her. It made her sick again, to think that just a few floors beneath her, the man who had once been Draco Malfoy passed his days like an animal—for his own good.

Narcissa joined them momentarily, arranging herself on the divan across from where they sat. With immaculate grace, she leaned over to retrieve her cup of tea, taking a small sip before setting it down on the saucer with a small clink. The silence that fell was almost unbearable, but none of them seemed able to breach it.

Finally, Narcissa began, "You are aware of the story, I'm sure. But I will tell it again, to clarify any of your misconceptions." She pressed her lips together, folding her hands in her lap, and Ginny found herself wanting to close her eyes again, to block out the sight of this unbelievably strong woman about to relive the nightmare that had broken her son. "Six years ago, on the night of the Last Battle, Draco killed his father." Narcissa paused; Ginny knew that there had been much more to that situation, but she tightened her fists and said nothing, allowing the woman to continue. "He was gravely wounded in the exchange. A pack of werewolves found him; by this time, it was already known that he had betrayed the Dark Lord. He was unable to defend himself and they did not spare him any mercy." Narcissa stopped to sip her tea again. Her face was a mask, her movements remarkably steady. "If Blaise and Pansy had not stumbled upon them, he would have been killed. Unfortunately, he had already been bitten. Several times." The woman took a deep breath. "As I'm sure you know, not all who have been bitten end up like Draco. Perhaps Ms. Granger can explain this next part to you more clearly."

Hermione nodded, leaning forward to discard her cup. She hesitated a moment to gather her thoughts. "Draco was tortured in…unspeakable ways that night. Perhaps, his mind was already lost before the transformation took place, but we can't be sure because since that night…Draco Malfoy _the human_ has never resurfaced." Hermione frowned to herself. "I've researched it extensively. There are two elements to every werewolf; the human and the wolf. The human prevails when the moon is not full, with the wolf serving as a sort of…" Hermione thought for a moment. "A sort of instinct. An inner voice, if you will. Most werewolves can control the wolf, for the most part. But for Draco, it seems that the wolf has dominated. It is either the case that his human self is suppressed or..." Hermione swallowed. "Or that his human self is gone entirely."

A chill ran down Ginny's spine. "Gone?" Her voice sounded hoarse.

"We can't be sure!" Hermione said quickly, "That's where you come in."

"He's done so much for us, Ginny," Harry added, "If he hadn't been there that night…"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing a hand across her face. "I know, Harry." He didn't need to tell her. She had never forgotten what Draco had done for her family or for their side during the war. She had never forgotten him, either, not since Hogwarts. She had heard rumors of him after the war, had contented herself with pretending to be alright not knowing what really happened to him. She bit her lip.

"Will you do it?" Narcissa asked, and that hope that Ginny had seen in her eyes before seemed to shine through, although Ginny knew the woman was trying her hardest to subdue it. Narcissa had probably subjected Draco to all manner of cures throughout the past year; disappointment after disappointment had made her cautious. "I know it is a lot to ask. It is a very personal experience. But Ms. Granger has assured me that you need not undergo the claiming. Just the physical act should be enough."

Hermione nodded. "He will have to be detained, of course, to prevent the claiming. But all of the work I've done has made explicit that the claiming is not necessary to sate the wolf. It will have other consequences, but those can be dealt with after we've brought Draco back." Hermione rested a hand on Ginny's knee. "I know this is a big decision, Ginny."

Ginny nodded slightly before asking the question that had plagued her since Hermione had introduced this plan to her. "What if I'm not the right one?" Ginny knew that she would do whatever she had to do to help Malfoy; he was more than deserving of it. What worried her most was what would happen if she failed. The very thought of it caused her heart to clench painfully. If she succeeded, he might hate her forever, but she could live with that. Now, aware of his plight like she was, she didn't know how she would be able to live her life if he remained like that.

"You're the one," Harry affirmed, his eyes downcast.

"It is you," Narcissa said, for emphasis, "I have no doubt."

"Then I'll do it," Ginny said, sounding more confident than she felt, "But with one condition."

Narcissa's composure had finally broken at Ginny's words, and she hid her face with her hands conceal her tears. "Anything," she said, "Anything you want."

"I don't want him to know who I am."

* * *

Draco woke, as if from a long slumber. His mind was groggy; his body felt oddly unfamiliar. When he opened his eyes, it was to pure darkness. A thrill of terror ran through him. He attempted to move his hand over to investigate why his sense of sight was missing, only to find that he was unable to. A slow testing of his limbs revealed that he had been tied, spread-eagled and probably naked, on what was probably a bed. He was about to begin struggling when he remembered why he had awakened in the first place.

The sweetest scent he had ever experienced wafted all around him. It was indescribably delicious, a blend of vanilla, of flowers, of female. Something primal inside of him welled up. _Yours_. Involuntarily, he heard himself growl.

"You're awake," a voice said gently. It was a woman's voice, low and musical; on some level, he found it vaguely familiar, but with his head as dazed as it was and that exquisite scent surrounding him, he couldn't place it. He felt a slight depression on the bed next to him, and realized she had probably taken a seat. The smell intensified, but he did not find it overwhelming in the least. In fact, he struggled to get closer to her. _Yours_.

"Mine," he croaked, mildly shocked at the gravelly sound of his voice and the pain it inflicted on him to speak. He had either been screaming or had not spoken for a very long time. Perhaps both. In light of her proximity, it didn't seem important. He wanted to take her scent into himself because, at that moment, it seemed to be the only thing that mattered.

"You can speak!" she exclaimed, with some surprise. Suddenly, what he perceived as a hand was caressing his cheek. It was cool and the touch was light, but it immediately sent a sting of something wonderful throughout his body. Without realizing it, he turned his mouth toward her hand and snapped at her with his teeth, causing her hand to be hastily removed. The loss of that touch felt almost painful. _Yours. Take her. _He heard himself groan. He fought hard against his bonds, needing to touch her again. He wanted to touch her with his mouth, to bite her.

He heard her take a deep breath, and then her hand was on his bare chest, lightly stroking. "Don't hurt yourself," she said, trying to soothe him, "It's okay." The feeling of her hand on him was both comforting and frustrating. He arched up against her, eager for more, needing her to be everywhere at once. _Take her._ He growled, but tried to listen to her. He took a few deep breaths, thoroughly distracted by her gentle hands. From that alone, he could feel himself hardening. Part of him was embarrassed for her to see him this way, but the rest of him needed her.

"See you?" he asked. As his mind cleared, it had occurred to him that he had been blindfolded. He wanted to see her with an unbelievable desperation.

"No," she said quietly, "I'm sorry."

A spike of anger caused him to snarl. _Mine; my right to see her._ He was quickly assuaged when he felt a soft touch on the center of his chest, just above his heart. It was a kiss. Again, he arched up for more, but she pulled back. _Need her. Take her._ He yanked against his restraints once more, to no avail.

"Let me go," he said.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She shifted her weight on the bed, climbing over him to straddle his waist. He was acutely aware of every point of contact she made with him. The feel of her smooth, bare thighs to either side of him made the rest of his blood rush south. He thrust upward, eager for stimulation; his erection met with her heat. The confirmation of her nakedness caused him unbelievable agony. To his pleasure, her hand grabbed his hardness and, with some hesitation, began to stroke. He moaned.

He could hear her breaths over his own harsh ones, could scent the slight musk of her arousal. But she wasn't ready for him—not yet. "Want you," he said, his voice strained with ecstasy. Her hands continued to work him. _Not like this_.

"Let me go," he said again, pleading. He needed to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her; equal to that was the desire to prepare her, to thrust his tongue against her heat before turning her around to plunge into her from behind. He wanted to grab her hips and her breasts hard, and he wanted to bite her and scratch his nails down her back. _Need that_. _Claim her._

"No, Draco." The sound of his name on her lips caused him to surge upward in her palm. _Claim her_. He growled low and hard when he felt her lips touch his erection tentatively. When he felt her tongue snake out to taste him, he found himself thrusting again, uncontrollable—furious that he could not touch her, elated that she was touching him. She pulled away.

"Not like this," he begged, when he felt her position herself over him, once again straddling him, "Not like this." The first touch of her wet heat against the head of his cock was pure bliss; he heard his own voice cry out, heard her sweet whimper. Slowly, she rubbed him against her silkiness, trying to ready herself for what was to come. The beast inside of him was enraged; distracted though he was, he labored against the ties that held him fast, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood. _Need her_. The smell of her arousal mixed with that wondrous scent that had intoxicated him before. _Yours._

"No," he protested, when she began to sink herself down upon his length. She was so tight. _Not like this_. She slowly but surely engulfed him. _Not like this_. His hands itched to touch her. He wanted to feel the weight of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. He wanted to taste her mouth, her sweat, her sweetness. _Not like this._

"I'm sorry," she whispered, when she had worked him all of the way inside of her. The metallic scent of her first time met his nostrils. _Your mate. Claim her_. His frustration was insurmountable, even as the sensation of being in her body overwhelmed his senses. He moved his hips; they cried out in symphony. Her hands fluttered to his chest to brace herself.

"You're mine," he growled, moving his hips again. _Claim her_. "Want you so much."

She began to move, making small noises of pleasure. He didn't want her like this. On the one hand he never wanted her to stop; on the other, he wanted to make her scream for him. He wanted to claim her body the way he knew he needed to. _Claim her_. His mouth watered. He wanted to bite her while he took his pleasure and gave her hers.

The beast inside of him gnashed its teeth. She felt amazing around him, but there should have been more to this. He thrust up into her, envisioning sinking his teeth into the place where her shoulder met her neck, and he came. His entire body trembled with the force of it; he yelled out. She fell forward, her breasts finally touching his chest, and he struggled against his restraints, needing to hold her to him as he finished.

Gently, she placed a kiss on his chest again, carefully avoiding his face. She extricated herself from him. A deep hollowness set in. _Claim her. Hold her. Yours. Don't let her go_. _Not done_. The bonds that held him had already cut into his wrists, but he fought them all the harder as he felt her leave the bed.

"Don't go," he choked out as he continued to fight, "Not done."

"I'm sorry," was all she said, and then he heard a door close. The animal inside of him howled.

* * *

**Author's Note**:** I had too much fun writing this! Please review and let me know what you think. ****But be gentle, because it has been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't for university classes XD **There will probably be about two more chappies to this baby.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first three months of Draco's recovery, as he had come to see it, he would alternate between savage outbursts and perfect normalcy. One moment he would be having tea with his mother or reading in one of the Manor's vast libraries; the next he would be overturning tables and chairs, ripping through upholstery, shredding curtains. Even he could hardly predict when the beast would take over. He had battled the overwhelming desire to sequester himself in his room, disgusted with his lack of ability to control the animal. Disgusted with himself, really.

But he knew that Narcissa treasured every breath he breathed as _Draco_, the son she had lost for over a year. Every time he joined her for a meal or escorted her through the gardens, just beginning to blossom with spring, he could feel her heart healing. The first time he had seen her after coming to himself, he had been shocked at her appearance. When he'd learnt that he'd only been gone for a year, he'd been even more taken aback—that the youthful, composed woman he had always known could have transformed into this aged and slightly unstable widow in such a small amount of time.

And so he pushed himself all the harder. Eventually, he grew aware of the prickling of his skin that came just before his fits, of the way his breathing sped up just slightly and his vision tunneled. With time and sheer force of will, he was able to swallow the beast, to push it down into the darkest depths of his mind and body. It was not easy, and it was not always successful, but as the months passed he became better at it.

But two things still plagued him and from them he could find no reprieve. His dreams were haunted by memories of that night that felt so long ago now; the night that he had killed Lucius and almost been killed himself. He would awaken, howling, in a frenzy of cold fear and rage, and covered in sweat. His vision, much sharper than the average human's, would register the solace of his bedroom at the Manor, but still he would have to suppress the urge to let the beast take over. It would take him most of the night just to calm down, just to reassure himself that it was in the past.

He had been an animal for a year. Now that he had returned, he knew why. Facing the aftermath of that night as a person probably would have driven him insane within days. In fact, he still worried that it might. The animal, more than anything else, sought to protect him. Even when Narcissa revealed to him that he had tried to kill himself many times over the past year, he understood. It had probably seemed the only way to escape the pain, the horror and brokenness that was his mind every time it tried to resurface.

In the wee hours of the morning, Draco would find himself in bed, his nightmare shoved to the back of his consciousness. He was never able to go back to sleep after those nightmares, so it gave him much time to reflect on his second affliction. Even if he had not had the time, the beast would insist that it cross his mind several times a day. _Find her. Claim her. Your mate._ The words would float through his head, sometimes louder than his own thoughts.

The woman who had brought him back. At times, he was unsure of whether to be grateful to her or to hate her. On the one hand, when he looked at his mother's smile, when he realized that it had been her last resort, that she might have killed herself searching for a way to bring him back...Draco knew he had been given a second lease on life, and so had Narcissa. That woman had saved both of their lives.

But sometimes Draco didn't know if being saved was what he really had wanted. When he struggled with this new existence, suffered the nightmares of the war, even when he looked in the mirror at his scarred body, he often wondered whether it would have been better for him just to remain as he had been. On days when it was especially hard for him, when he could see Lucius' glassy eyes staring back at him no matter where he looked or hear as his flesh was ripped from his body—on those days he hated her, wished her dead.

And she had humiliated him. His Malfoy pride stung every time he recalled being trussed up naked, blindfolded, tied on a bed for her use. Even as his body hardened at the memory, he found it unbearable, recalled how he had begged her to release him—not so that he could put her in her place, but so that he could revel in her more fully. Even as he loathed her, the beast longed for her. It needed her—Draco needed her. The hollow ache in his chest never went away, and he knew it only would when he found her again, and claimed her the way the beast urged him to. It was this very dependence that made him want to kill her—kill her as much as he wanted to kiss her.

The beast was outraged that he had not kissed his mate, outraged that he had not seen her face or her body. It was outraged that their first mating had been done in such an impersonal fashion, that her first time had been taken like that, that her pleasure had not been seen to. Most of all the beast was outraged not to have its mate, claimed and satisfied and protected. Even as Draco warred with these feelings, determined to eliminate them, just the thought of her scent sent him into the bathroom for a cold shower. He hated it.

* * *

It was early summer before Draco felt he was ready to leave the Malfoy Manor for the first time. It had taken him all of two seasons to rein himself in, to make a sort of uneasy peace with the beast. Besides that, he had needed those months to harden himself for the conversation he undoubtedly needed to have with his mother.

They had been strolling through one of the gardens on the Malfoy property, Narcissa's dainty hand looped under Draco's elbow as they took in the new blooms. It was a particularly quaint garden, arranged to imitate the growth of wildflowers around a red brick path. In the distance, a fountain tinkled comfortingly. Narcissa wore a small smile on her face.

They rounded a bend in the path and alighted upon a stone bench on the edge of a small clearing. Sloping trees created a speckled shade with the midday sun, but a cool breeze blew by. Draco led Narcissa over to the bench, waiting for her to sit before he did so as well.

"I know you have much on your mind," Narcissa said, surprising Draco with her foresight, "It would be selfish of me to allow you to continue like this, a prisoner in the Manor, a stranger to the rest of the wizarding world. I know it is selfish, but I still wish it were possible." She turned her bright eyes on him, expectant.

Draco nodded. "I need you to tell me about what happened after I was attacked. Tell me how the war ended, mother."

Narcissa folded her hands delicately in her lap. "It did not go on for long after that night. By eliminating Lucius, you took out the last of the Dark Lord's power bases, opening the way for the end. Potter and Longbottom had destroyed the last of the Horcruxes by morning." She turned to him, earnest and proud. "You are considered a hero by many, Draco."

Draco frowned, but ignored her last statement. He swallowed. "I remember two Weasleys being there that night."

Narcissa understood his question. "They both lived, Draco. You saved them." She paused, as if considering her words. "Potter and Granger and the Weasleys have all demonstrated how grateful they are many times. Truly."

Draco couldn't help but sneer. "I don't need their gratitude. It has done little other than curse me. It would have been better if I had left them to die." Draco saw something flash quickly over his mother's face, but she said nothing. The bitterness in his throat drove him to the next subject. "Tell me who the woman is."

He did not have to specify who he was talking about. Narcissa knew immediately and the calmness of her answer led Draco to believe she had been waiting for this question since the day he was brought back. "She has asked that I not reveal her identity. In light of what she has given me, I will abide by her wishes."

For the first time in a week, Draco found himself fighting back the beast. Anger and desperation riled it into a frenzy, and he struggled not to snarl at his own mother. He rose abruptly and began to pace. Narcissa did not comment; she knew it was one of the only things that allowed him to remain himself.

"I need to know who she is," Draco said tensely, "The wolf will not back down until I find her." He didn't mention his own, personal vendetta. "It is like an emptiness inside of me. I cannot stand it."

"In this, I cannot help you, Draco."

He barked out a rough laugh, not at all surprised that it sounded like a growl.

* * *

Ginny rubbed her eyes, contemplating whether she should risk Apparition after a twenty-four hour shift in the emergency room at St. Mungo's. She blearily acknowledged several of her coworkers as she made her way down to the lobby of the hospital, all but ready to fall asleep on her feet. When she stumbled slightly over absolutely nothing, she decided that to Apparate would definitely result in a nasty case of splicing. Floo it would have to be, though she hated getting soot in her hair when she had every intention of skipping a shower and going straight to bed.

"You look terrible," a woman commented as Ginny approached the communal fireplace. She almost neglected to recognize who it was that had addressed her, but the brunette lodged herself in Ginny's line of sight.

"Herms," Ginny acknowledged, suddenly a bit more alert; her Healer instinct kicked in immediately. She hustled Hermione off to one side. "Is everything okay?" It was rare for Hermione to visit St. Mungo's—it held far too many memories of the war for anyone's comfort, really.

Immediately sensing the direction of Ginny's thoughts, Hermione hastily replied, "Yes, of course. I'm just here to see you." Relieved, Ginny allowed her shoulders to slump with exhaustion once again. The older girl placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "You know, you really should try and take it easier. It's not like they would say no if you asked to take some time off. Or even to work a shorter shift, Ginny."

Ginny shook her head, too tired to argue. "How long have you been waiting?"

"I came by yesterday evening, but they told me that you had requested to work overnight." Hermione paused, a frown of concern marring her freckled face. "I know you've been working yourself into the ground for the past few months."

Ginny refused to comment. "What did you need to see me about, Herms? If it's not important, I'd like to go home and fall into a coma."

Hermione forced a grin, but Ginny knew she was barely holding back the urge to begin a lecture about the benefits of rest and relaxation. It had been a point of contention between the two of them lately, but Ginny was not about to budge on it. Now more than ever, she needed to throw herself into her work. Ginny stifled a yawn.

"Come, I'll take you home side-along," Hermione said, that look of concern not disappearing from her face, "It's probably better we speak about this in private."

Acquiescing to Hermione's offer, Ginny allowed herself to be led outside of the hospital and into the cool morning air. Summer had come while she was not looking, she realized as she prepared to be Apparated home by Hermione. The carefully manicured lawns and flowerbeds of St. Mungo's were lush with color and life, and though the breeze was slightly chill, the day promised to be a warm one.

When she and Hermione had finally settled on the comfy couch in Ginny's quaint London flat, a hot cup of tea having been thrust into Ginny's hands, only then did she allow herself to speculate on what the other girl had come to tell her. A niggling hope in the back of her mind told her that she knew what she wanted Hermione's visit to be about. She tried to smother the feeling, but for the past six months she had been hungry for any scrap of information that Hermione had been willing to throw at her, without her having to ask explicitly. She could never bring herself to ask explicitly.

"It's about Malfoy," Hermione said, and Ginny tried not to look too eager. The last update Hermione had given had been about a month ago; it had been just a quick reassurance that he was doing well. Conversation about Malfoy had been sparse; Ginny knew that Hermione was trying to spare her too many details for her own good, and Ginny never complained. She didn't want Hermione to know how much she craved for news of him.

"What about him?" Ginny murmured into her cup of tea.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Gin, you're not fooling me."

Ginny tried not to look startled. "What?"

"I know you've been…interested in Malfoy since we were at Hogwarts. Since you got over your crush on Harry."

Ginny's cheeks flushed. She could deny what Hermione was saying, but she feared that would only implicate her further. "Don't make it sound like anything more than an adolescent phase," she retorted, "After Hogwarts, with the war and everything…even without the war; I didn't have time for that sort of thing. You know it." Malfoy had been a fit bloke back when she was a sixth year; he'd been insufferable, but she'd still allowed herself to admire him. It had been nothing more than that.

Hermione shook her head. "You know you're his mate. You could just reveal yourself to him and he would probably accept you."

The bottom seemed to drop out of Ginny's stomach and she couldn't suppress a shudder. "Never, Hermione. Not after…" Not after what she had done to him. To force him to accept her just because she was his mate? What's more, she knew enough about werewolves to know that they mated for life. If she waltzed up to Malfoy now—and he probably hated her, both because she was a Weasley and because of what had happened between them—she was essentially declaring that she wanted to be with him forever, and frankly she did not. "I don't want him to know."

Hermione yanked a section of her unruly hair, a habit she had when she was thinking about something particularly hard. "And you're absolutely sure of this?"

Ginny nodded, resolute.

Hermione sighed, then reached into the pocket of her robe. She pulled out a dark vial about the size of her palm. A thick liquid sloshed about within. She held it out for Ginny to take. "Then you will be wanting to drink this. It only lasts for two weeks, so I'll have to get you some more, but for now I would suggest downing it right before you leave your flat."

Ginny frowned, swirling the concoction about in its container. "What is it, exactly?"

"It will mask your scent," Hermione explained, "Werewolves recognize their mates primarily by olfaction. Not only, mind you, but luckily he hasn't seen you. Short of giving you a permanent glamor, there's not much we can do about the sense of sight anyway." Hermione yanked her hair again. "It's just a precaution, in case you run into him."

Ginny's frowned deepened. "But…" She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Does this mean…?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, catching on, "I spoke to Narcissa just yesterday. It seems he's now well enough to leave Malfoy Manor." Flatly, she added, "And it seems he's hell-bent on finding his mate, too."

Ginny blinked, trying to digest what she had been told and having a hard time of it. On the one hand, she was elated that Malfoy was now well enough to rejoin wizarding society; she had no doubt that he would be welcomed with open and enthusiastic arms. There would be much fanfare, much publicity. On the other hand, she was terrified of having to face him. She clutched the vial tightly in her palm.

"I guess I'll need a lifetime's supply of this stuff," she joked shakily.

Hermione chuckled, but it was a strained sound. "It's what you want, Ginny."

* * *

Ginny woke in the late evening, her blankets twisted around her and her breaths harsh. She stared at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to calm her beating heart, trying to sate the emptiness she felt. She had dreamt of him again, as she had so many times during the past six months. The dreams were flashes of him as he had been at Hogwarts, smirking and strutting; then, they were charged scenes of his body beneath hers as the pleasure of their coupling caused his muscles to flex, as he pleaded with her to release him.

She clenched her fists, trying with all her might to make the last vestiges of her dream go away. The only thing that allowed her some reprieve from the feelings of guilt and, above all, of loss, of the sensation that something essential was missing, was her work at St. Mungo's. She shut her eyes briefly, her body protesting, demanding that she stay in bed. Instead, she flung herself out of it and into the bathroom. She would shower, and then head back to the hospital. Hopefully they could give her something to do that would prevent her from mulling over these thoughts again and again.

* * *

**Author's Note****: Fear not, fore there will be Ginny/Draco interaction in the next chapter. I really wanted to take my time and develop both of them before throwing them smack-dab into an encounter with each other. I know I said only two more chappies in the last instalment, but I'm thinking I might get a total of three or four out of this! I'm enjoying writing it so much :)**

**What are your thoughts so far? Please review, I do so love to read them.**


	3. Chapter 3

Evenings at the Burrow were filled with warmth and raucous laughter. The Weasley children had, for the most part, fled the nest after the chaos of the war had settled. Only Ron remained of the original brood, but Hermione had moved in, too; into a room just across from Ron's. The two strictly maintained that they were friends, but the entire family had grown tired of the charade, and Mrs. Weasley had even offered to allow them to sleep in the same bedroom. If they could ever overcome their own denial, Ginny thought that it wouldn't be long before they announced their engagement.

It had become a tradition for the entire family to gather for one of Mrs. Weasley's famous, home-cooked meals about once a month. After skipping several of the gatherings, Ginny had felt obliged to attend this one. Bill and Fleur had announced their pregnancy the previous month, and despite being delirious with her self-imposed workload, Ginny had instantly regretted having missed it. With Hermione's news that Malfoy was finally ready to re-enter the world, Ginny had realized that she could not continue exiling herself from her own.

Talk ran freely at the Weasley table and, as always, food was abundant. Mrs. Weasley was at her happiest when everyone was gathered, and she alternated between insisting that Fleur eat more and berating Ginny for both her fatigued appearance and lack of attendance. Mr. Weasley, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Percy were engaged in deep conversation at the other end of the table, while the rest of the boys joked and laughed and fought over who had eaten the most. It was a scene straight out of Ginny's childhood, in many ways, and yet she was reminded of the war and of Malfoy, too, every time she looked at her father and at Ron.

They had been captured by Lucius Malfoy and his gang of Death Eaters that night. It was hard even for Ginny to think about what they had been subjected to and what Draco had saved them from. The Death Eaters had quickly developed a debilitating and signature form of torture for their victims, and both Ron and Mr. Weasley lived with the consequences every day. Both of them had wielded their wands with their right hands; now, where their right hands used to be, nothing but healed stumps remained.

After dinner the family retired to their living room, which remained as cluttered and cozy as ever. Mrs. Weasley sat with Hermione across the room, undoubtedly trying to hint at the fact that she and Ron should be thinking of marriage soon, while the rest of the Weasley men and Harry turned the radio on to follow the most recent Quidditch match. Although she was tempted to listen with them, Ginny sunk into the sofa next to Fleur, deciding to keep her company as she complained good-naturedly about the fact that she had overeaten.

"I will gain far too much weight eef zis continues," Fleur stated, rubbing the slight bump on her otherwise flat stomach. "And Bill, ee iz far too excited for me to grow fat. You know, ee says zat zee wolf is very pleased wiz itself."

"The wolf?" Ginny quested, her curiosity suddenly piqued. Bill had been bitten by Fenrir Greyback during the war, but it was common knowledge that he had not been changed. Luckily, the transformation could only take place if the biter was in wolf form, and Greyback had taken a chunk out of Bill while he was still human. Certainly, Bill had acquired some…wolfish characteristics, but even now it was impossible to tell that he had ever had an encounter with a werewolf.

"Yes," Fleur leaned in conspiratorially, "It has been much more…how do you say? Excitable since vee discovered ze baby vill be coming."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked slowly. She had never thought to ask Fleur or Bill about werewolves. She had barely asked Hermione anything, preferring to immerse herself in her work. But with Malfoy soon to be on the prowl for his mate, she reasoned that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to know a bit more about what he had become.

"Vell, you know, since ee was bitten, ee tells me zat in ees 'ead zere is a voice, of sorts," Fleur's eyes shifted to her husband as she spoke, "It ees an instinct, ee says. It guides 'im. It knew about our little one even before me. _Apparement_, t iz a trait of ze werewolves."

"What…what else does this voice tell him?"

Fleur smiled slightly. "It iz very protective of me. And, of course, of ze baby." She paused, a slender hand flying up to her neck to slide along the collar of her shirt. "It iz vat told 'im zat I am iz mate."

Ginny blinked, suddenly flustered. "But he's not really a werewolf, right? How can he have a mate?"

Fleur shrugged, that small smile still on her face. "Vee all 'ave mates, ma cherie. But vee are not as lucky as zhem. Vee cannot find our mates as easily."

Ginny could hardly control her apprehension. She had been taking the potion Hermione prescribed her, but would that really hold up against some sort of wolfy instinct in Malfoy's head? She shivered, looking around the room at her family. If everyone had mates, and she was Malfoy's—did that make Malfoy hers, as well?

Suddenly, as if sensing that Ginny was drifting off into a spiral of worrisome thoughts, Fleur's beautiful face lit up with mischief. She moved closer to Ginny, tilting over to whisper into her ear. "But I am quite glad, sometimes, zat Bill 'as such tendencies. In bed, ee is especially good. And zee claiming iz just enough to 'ave me out of my 'ead. _La petite mort, vous savez_?"

The heat that colored Ginny's face might have been enough to kindle a fire. "Fleur! Too many details!" she squealed, just as Hermione broke away from Mrs. Weasley and came over to them, providing a convenient change of topic. But Fleur's words about the claiming would haunt Ginny all the way home, even as she fell into bed. What exactly did that entail, anyway?

* * *

Ginny had been very careful about checking the Daily Prophet for any mention of Malfoy. There had been a great deal of speculation as to his whereabouts directly after the war. There still was the occasional gossip column claiming that he had been sighted in the Canaries. His actions during the war had quickly elevated him to wizarding celebrity status and she was certain that at his very first step outside the Manor, pictures of him would be splashed all over the front page of every newspaper and magazine in Britain.

But a long month had passed since Hermione's news and there was no sign of Malfoy. Either he was very good at playing low-key or he had not left the Manor after all. Both possibilities were equally disturbing to Ginny. On the one hand, it made it all the more difficult to avoid him if the reporters were not continuously hounding him. He could be anywhere. But if, in fact, he still prowled his family property, then her actions, however despicable they were, had borne no fruit. The very thought of it was painful to her.

Nevertheless, the heat of the summer had made her brave on her day off. She had finally started to ease herself away from working extra-long hours at the hospital. That Hermione had come down with a vengeance on her supervisors for overworking her had played a role in that. But as Ginny wove her way through the crowds of witches and wizards that packed the streets of Diagon Alley, she was grateful to Hermione for insisting that she work a bit less.

Diagon Alley in the summer was a sight to behold. It buzzed, as it always did, but there was a fresh liveliness to the place during the midday rush. Plump witches hauled screaming children this way and that, brushing past each other as they clutched their numerous purchases. Wizards weaved in and out of stores wiping sweat off their brows as they went about their business. And Ginny relished this busy atmosphere, finding it almost as comforting as the bustle of St. Mungo's emergency ward.

She had a number of things on her list today. She needed some new work robes, as the fraying on her old ones was becoming irreparable by charm. She had run out of owl treats, and so retrieving her daily mail was becoming more and more of a challenge; a trip to Eeylops Owl Emporium was thus in order. Then, she wanted to pay a visit to Flourish and Blotts, just for leisure, before dropping in at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was the kind of day that she hadn't allowed herself to have in months.

She took a deep breath when she arrived at Madam Malkin's, and was surprised to find that she was rather excited to go shopping. She hadn't bought new robes in so long—perhaps she would treat herself to a pretty formal one, alongside the standard white Healer's robes that she had come for. Feeling better than she had in a long time, Ginny entered the store.

* * *

Like a starved wolf, Draco had been hunting. Adjusting his hooded cloak surreptitiously, he moved stealthily from storefront to storefront, just as he had for the past two or so weeks. Of course, he had had to charm the heavy black robe he wore to keep him cool in this summer heat, but the slight discomfort was worth the anonymity. He had tried wearing a glamor for the first few days, but it had always made his skin itch, and the wolf did not like it at all. Not many people tried to peer at his face; after all, there were others dressed in far more fantastical and attention-mongering ways. A hooded figure was not terribly out of place this close to Knockturn Alley, anyway.

He had been surprised during his first walkthrough of Knockturn. The place had remained almost unchanged from its prewar days, though it was undoubtedly less dangerous. Draco always began his hunt there around noon, gradually working his way toward Diagon Alley. He had repeated this process over and over again, hardly ever going into any of the shops that lined the streets. It wasn't magical merchandise that he searched for, anyway.

He knew he would find her here if he looked for long enough, or at least he hoped to. He had tried to pressure his mother into revealing something about the woman, but she had stayed mum. He did not even know if his mate lived in Britain—from the few words she had said to him during their encounter, he could deduce that she had an English accent. But then again, most of that memory was hazy and animalistic, a mishmash of overpowering desire, frustration, and instinct. She could be a French or German witch for all he knew. He might be looking in the wrong country.

But the wolf felt somewhat sated when he prowled these streets; it, at least, seemed convinced that this was the way toward eliminating the unbearable hollowness he had been left with. Draco's logic told him that the odds of running into her in places as large as Knockturn or Diagon Alley were low. But while his anger still seethed, he needed to keep the wolf at bay until he could figure out a better plan to locate her.

Plus the walk, especially on a warm day like today, could be rather refreshing. He had been in the Manor for a long time, after all. All the sights and smells of the world had felt like a bombardment at first, but as the days passed he had grown familiar with them, even reassured by them. He looked forward to the laughter of children as they ran between the crowds. Even the large, rather judgemental owl that sat outside the pet store had come to know him, and he had begun to reward its acknowledgment with a treat.

Draco found himself in Diagon Alley much sooner than he had planned to be. The noontime throng of shoppers had not yet abated, to his chagrin, and so he found himself keeping his owl-friend company. It was an old hoot owl, comfortable on its perch and indifferent to most of those who passed by. It opened one eye and blinked slowly at Draco in recognition. Obligingly, he gave it a treat.

A flash of red in the swarm of people caused both the wolf and Draco to stir. Slowly, Draco made her out as she worked her way toward him. He felt like she was someone he should know. At the same time, he was sure he had never seen someone so beautiful. Her russet locks were wavy though slightly frizzled from the heat and humidity. Her skin was pale, lightly freckled, but her eyes, even from this distance, were a warm honey color. The wolf clamored. _Her._ Excitement coursed through him before he even realized what was happening or why. He clenched his hands, trying to rein himself in, even as he frantically inhaled through his nose—trying to find something and failing.

The wolf was growing frantic as she neared him, and the owl shifted uncomfortably next to him, as if sensing his inner tussle. Was she coming toward him? Did she know who he was? He continued to sniff the air, the wolf awaiting that scent that would confirm its suspicion, while Draco himself remained baffled. He squinted, even though he could see her perfectly fine, even though she was moving closer to him. Her eyes were set on the door of the Owl Emporium behind him. Wasn't that…?

"Weasley?" he said as she reached the door of the pet store, having ignored him entirely. His voice was colored with shock. His sniffing had turned up nothing but the usual smells of Diagon Alley. The wolf was hysterical in his head. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ Weasley stiffened and turned to meet his gaze.

She frowned and he realized she could not see past his hood. Impulsively, he reached up and pulled it back, revealing himself before he had even registered the consequences. Weasley's eyes widened and the color drained from her face. She stood as though frozen, and then in the next moment she was scrambling for the door of the pet shop, as if trying to escape.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, surprising himself by grabbing for her arm. He caught her bare skin, causing her to freeze again and to inhale sharply. Something akin to an electric shock ran through him, and the wolf seemed to shake with confusion in his head. "Don't run away."

Weasley opened her mouth and closed it again repeatedly, seeming to struggle for words. Draco realized that she had been holding several bags, all of which she had dropped around her feet. A white robe spilled from one. She looked like she might be on the verge of fainting.

"Don't run away," he repeated, unable to release her, oddly unwilling to. _Wrong. Don't let go. But wrong._ The wolf sputtered incoherently. Draco could only look at her. His expression must have betrayed his astonishment. He had steered cleared of the Weasley brothers' shop during his many trips, and so she was the first person he'd seen here that he remembered from Hogwarts. But while she looked much like she had at school, he could not really remember her having looked _like this_. His mouth felt dry.

Already there were murmurs from behind him. Someone had noticed _Draco Malfoy_, and the name seemed to reverberate through the street almost as fast as it was said. He heard the commotion in the back of his mind, but couldn't bring himself to tear his attention away from the girl in front of him. Weasley, for her part, was equally entranced—only she looked like she might vomit at any moment.

"Draco Malfoy!" someone finally shouted, loud enough to break their reverie. Draco's head snapped around, while the Weasley's snapped back to the door she had been attempting to open. She yanked herself away from him and through the threshold of the emporium. _Follow_. The wolf's orders were simple, and Draco didn't hesitate to do as it said. He rushed through before she could slam the door closed and hurriedly locked it.

Spinning, he met wide eyes—that of the teenaged clerk, the dozens of owls, and of course the horrified Weasley. The young clerk, who was probably a student working here for the summer, was the first to find his voice.

"Are you…by any chance…Draco Malfoy?" He sounded incredulous, as if he had just seen a celebrity. "Aren't you…dead? Or in the Canaries?"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Draco asked, frowning without looking at the boy. His gaze was directed at Weasley yet again; she seemed to be slowly edging away from him, but at his words she stumbled and stayed planted. "And why are you running away from me, Weasley?"

She gaped at him. He lunged forward with a speed he didn't know he had, seizing her hand and having that perfect spark ignite across him once more. "Stop!" she protested, resisting as he hauled her off to a corner of the shop, away from the dumbfounded clerk. "What are you doing, Malfoy? I only did it to help you—I honestly don't want anything to do with you—just let me go!"

He released her roughly, his brain addled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Weasley." _Her scent_, the wolf prompted, as if it had finally gathered its wits. Draco found himself agreeing with it, even as he caged Weasley in against a wall, dipping toward her. _Need to find her scent_. All around them, owls shifted, making small clucking noises as they ruffled their feathers. The animal surged inside of him.

He leaned in and she shrank away, looking down, pressing against the stone as if wishing she would sink into it. She was much shorter than him, he realized, and so tiny compared to his broad-shouldered frame. She looked terrified and…something else he could not place.

"Malfoy, no," she murmured, but she did not raise her hands to push him away.

Gently, he lowered his head to her downturned face, moving from her cheek to her neck. Inhaling. Breathing deeply. _Her scent_, the wolf chanted in his head, _wrong_. She didn't smell like anything; she didn't even have a scent. The wolf roared and Draco found himself snarling. The small Weasley flinched as he pulled away abruptly. _Not yours_, the wolf said with finality. "Not mine," he ground out through clenched teeth. Draco's head spun. _Not yours. Wrong._

He shook himself, trying to regain control. Weasley seemed to be shivering with fear-and relief? She had tears in her eyes, which she had finally turned to look at him. At the sight of those brown eyes glistening, the wolf quieted and seemed to do a double-take. _Hold her._ Draco stepped back, clutching his head. _Don't let her go_.

"I'm sorry," he managed, still holding his head. The wolf was confusing him even more than the sight of the too-beautiful Weasley. His temples began to throb. "Weasley?"

She seemed to swallow her emotion, refusing to allow herself to cry in front of him. _Hold her_, the wolf urged, but Draco withstood its advice. She probably already thought he was crazy for behaving like this and the last thing he needed, now that he had been spotted in public, was for anyone to get wind of such erratic behavior. As Draco warred with the wolf, the Weasley drew herself up to make an escape. He watched her warily, and she eyed him with the same mix of fear and something else that he had seen before. _Don't let her go._

"I want to explain," he said as she began to slip past him. He didn't know what he would say to her even if she allowed him to explain—he himself didn't understand his actions. He just wanted to keep her here.

"Just let me go, please," she whispered, almost so quiet that he did not hear her. It took all his self-control to allow her to leave, even as the wolf insisted he grab her once again. When he heard her footsteps break into a run, and the quick open and close of the shop door, he clawed at his chest. His breathing was heavy. _Not yours_. But why did the hollowness in his chest feel worse than before?

* * *

**Author's Note****: I wonder how Draco is going to make sense of this? There will be more interaction in the next chappy! And I hope Fleur's French accent wasn't too hard to understand? "Apparement" = apparently & "la petite mort, vous savez?" = orgasm, you know?**

** Sorry for the slightly late update—I had a friend visiting for a few days and it was hard to find any time to write! This story is turning out to be much longer than I anticipated. It is just too much fun to write, and I keep coming up with delicious ideas I just MUST include XD**

**I hope you guys are enjoying this ride as much as I am. Please do send me a review, any and all encouragement/criticism is welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

Draco locked himself away in the Manor for almost a week after his encounter with Ginny Weasley. He'd Apparated home in a frenzy, almost out of control, and had shredded his bed sheets before managing to tamp down on the rush of emotions he was experiencing. The wolf had been mad with the urgency to find her again, to keep her next to him. The horrid emptiness he felt had deepened at her departure. But the wolf had been equally adamant about the fact that she was _not his._ His mind had been a muddle.

The first night, his usual nightmares were replaced by a different dream. There'd been enough trouble settling down to sleep to start with, disordered as he felt. But when he finally managed it, he almost wished he had not. His faceless, formless mate appeared atop him, working his body, driving him mad with arousal. The memory of her scent came to him and just as he was about to explode in pleasure, he turned his head to see Ginny Weasley, watching him tied to the bed like an animal, having his pleasure wrenched from him like he was not even human. Those honey brown eyes that had struck him so sharply at Diagon Alley had been wide with scorn.

He'd awakened hard, sweaty, disgusted with himself and feeling murderous. He would kill his mate, of that he was sure. No one could ever know what had been done to him. The shower he took after stumbling out of bed chilled him to the bone. But when his mind flitted over Ginny Weasley, his sexual frustration remained.

Restless with his self-imposed exile, both physically and mentally, Draco took to running laps around the Malfoy grounds. His body appreciated the distraction, and so did the wolf. Only when he ran did he feel he was able to think clearly, though he knew Narcissa watched him disapprovingly from her window each time he passed it. She probably worried that he would revert back to the senseless animal she had worked so hard to be rid of. But running made him feel closer to himself—the person he had been before he'd been bitten—than anything else.

The grounds were a vast, rolling affair. One could get lost in them very quickly, so Draco stuck to the perimeter of the house, dodging towering evergreens and well-trimmed shrubs. A few burgeoning flowerbeds peppered the landscape here and there, colorful with the summer humidity. It was vivid with life. His rapid movements lulled the wolf into a haze of complacency—probably because it paralleled hunting—but it also drew much of the turmoil from Draco's mind. And he needed to think as clearly as he could if he was to figure out what had happened between him and Weasley.

She had been more beautiful than he could have imagined, though he was certain that she had not changed that much in the few years since school. He had felt some attraction to her back at Hogwarts—she'd been pretty enough. Perhaps she had filled out her curves a tad more, but that did not warrant the intense reaction he had had to her. It did not explain why he could feel himself hardening when he thought of how close he had been to her, how small she had felt—how easy it would have been for him to take her against the wall of the emporium.

He shook his head violently, derailing that train of thought and narrowly avoiding a hedge. He reacted to her in a purely visceral fashion, like an animal in heat. Perhaps it was because he had found her attractive before his transformation that he found her so desirable now. It was not like werewolves could only be enticed by their mates. He'd read that they were simply less likely to have any desire to cheat once the claiming had occurred, and Draco knew he had not yet claimed his mate. He never would, if he could control the beast long enough to keep it that way.

Weasley's lack of scent had confused the wolf, but it only corroborated what Draco already knew. There was no way that she was his mate—even the wolf had said as much, once it came to its proper senses. No Weasley could smell the way his mate had—that perfect blend of everything he found wonderful in the world. And Ginny Weasley would never have had sexual intercourse with him, no matter what her family owed. He recalled, vaguely, that his mate had been a virgin—Weasley, with her looks and popularity, could not have escaped Hogwarts intact. No matter how beautiful she had grown, fate would not have played such a convenient trick on him, making a Weasley his mate. Of that he was sure.

As he rounded yet another bend in the Manor's sprawling layout, a soft _pop_ alerted him to the presence of a house elf before he came upon her. The day was rather gloomy and the overcast clouds threatened rain, but Draco intended to ignore any warning about the weather that his mother had undoubtedly sent for him. He continued running even as the droopy-eared creature waved its arms with some insistence.

"Master!" she said hastily as she began to sprint alongside him, keeping up remarkably well, "If Master would please to listen to Dolly, please." The elf nimbly dodged a tree. "Mistress has informed Dolly to inform Master that Master has visitors."

Draco stuttered to a stop. Dolly ran on a few feet before recognizing that he was not following. She crawled back and prostrated herself. "Visitors?" Draco questioned, puzzled as he caught his breath.

The house elf bowed several times as she replied. "Yes, Master has visitors. Master Zabini and Mistress Parkinson have come to visit the Master, Dolly was told."

Draco's eyes widened. He hadn't seen either of them in so long. "Tell mother that I will be down in fifteen minutes," he ordered and the elf disappeared with the same _pop_ that had announced her. Draco stood for a few moments, excitement, surprise, and apprehension all rushing through him. They had been his closest friends at Hogwarts, but those memories were buffered by the tensions of the years they had spent at war. They had not all been on the same side in the beginning.

Worst yet, they knew of Draco's present condition. Narcissa had told him that Pansy and Blaise had been the ones to rescue him from that pack of rabid werewolves, hell-bent on biting him to pieces. He shuddered at the memory, however muted it was in his mind, and the wolf let out a threatening growl that Draco realized he'd let out, as well. As he Apparated to his room and prepared for a quick shower, he felt something he had not in a long time—nervous.

* * *

Pansy all but threw herself at his feet when he finally entered the salon where his mother had been entertaining both of their guests with tea. Tears streamed copiously down her rouged cheeks. Luckily, her mascara appeared to have been spelled into a waterproof state. As Pansy hugged him tightly, desperately, Blaise rose from the sofa, his dark skin somehow paling at the sight of Draco. He said nothing, but Pansy blabbered enough for both of them. Just like Draco remembered it.

"You _fool_!" she screeched, "How could you take on Lucius on your own? Didn't we tell you to wait for us? Blasted _fool._ I swore I would kill you when you came back to life. How could you not tell us you had come back? It was an entire _year_ and, Draco, you were not _yourself_. If I tried to touch you, you would _bite._ You blasted _fool!_" She buried her face into his shirt, sobbing piteously. She had cut her hair into a fine, dark bob, and Draco hesitantly raised a hand to stroke it. It only made her cry harder.

"Draco," Blaise said finally, his voice firm. He had never been the affectionate or expressive type, but there was a note of something pleasant in his tone. "You've been missed."

Draco felt a small smile crack at his lips, but he simply nodded. His nervousness dissipated easily as he guided Pansy over to the couches and sat with her across from his mother. Narcissa's expression was rather tense and tight-lipped, which Draco found strange. The presence of Blaise and Pansy should have revived memories of normalcy for her—so why did she seem so anxious?

It took him a minute to see the various newspapers and magazines strewn over the coffee table, hardly leaving any space for the tray of tea. On the front of them, in bold letters, he saw his name with various captions, and of course moving pictures of himself and Ginny Weasley outside of Eeylops' Owl Emporium that day. A thrill ran through him when he spotted the words "ROMANCE" on one.

Pansy raised her puffy face from his shoulder long enough to stab one long, painted nail toward the mess on the table. "_That_ was how I had to find out you were back? You couldn't have owled?" She sniffled, her dark eyes narrowed. "Narcissa tells me you've been better for more than half a year now. You couldn't have contacted us? You abysmal _fool!_"

Draco flashed his mother a dark look, but she shrugged it off. Her attention was still on the obviously distressing media attention Draco had garnered for himself. She was probably verging on anger that he had been spotted, and with a Weasley nonetheless. Her blue eyes looked like steel when she turned them on him. "What is the meaning of this, Draco?" Her voice shook ever so slightly, and Draco wondered just how upsetting this was for her.

He'd known there'd be consequences if he was seen, which was why he had taken the care to keep himself concealed. Draco had berated himself countless times over the past week for those moments of mindless stupidity. Why had he felt so compelled to show his face to Weasley? He had remained hidden for a month, stalking through Diagon Alley unmolested. He was sure that that luxury would never be afforded him again.

"How did they even manage to take these?" Draco muttered as he appraised one of the tabloids. This one had a particularly good shot of Weasley, with just his profile visible. She looked frightened, but still beautiful. He had to tear his eyes away from the image in order to answer his mother. "I ran into her. It was a coincidence. She didn't recognize me so I took the hood off." It sounded idiotic even to his own ears. Why should he have removed his hood for Weasley, of all people?

Narcissa sighed, sounding almost relieved. "It is still unacceptable. The rumors will be unstoppable."

"It will be months before they let this story go," Blaise agreed solemnly, but his eyes seemed to be glinting with amusement. "Draco Malfoy comes out of hiding to pursue the youngest Weasley. I think I even read that you two have been dating since Hogwarts and she's been concealing you in her flat."

"My poor Draco!" Pansy chimed in, mostly recovered from her hysterics, "Those reporters are absolutely mad."

Draco groaned, his eyes still perusing the medley of stories. Very few of them did not insinuate that he and Weasley were involved in some way. When he caught a proper glimpse of himself in one of the pictures, he understood why. He had looked at her with such intensity that it was difficult to rule out some sort of relationship. His eyes had been devouring her as if hungry for the sight.

His mother's face was hard. "The Weasleys must be very displeased."

Draco frowned, looking up at her. "Since when does it matter whether they are displeased or not?" The Weasleys were indebted to him. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory of his actions that night. The wolf stirred, as it often did when such thoughts came to him. He pushed them away. This was not the time to go berserk in front of his friends.

Narcissa folded her hands primly in her lap, but her posture was stiff. "Regardless, _I_ am displeased. I do not want you seeing Ginny Weasley again."

"I have little intention of doing so," Draco affirmed, but his words sounded strangely empty. With the rumor mills grinding away, he knew that what his mother said was for the best. Besides, he had to avoid the public eye as much as possible if he was to find his mate. She was a woman who didn't want to be known—if he was being followed around by the press constantly, there was no way he would be able to locate her. Any association with Ginny Weasley would undoubtedly make the topic of Draco Malfoy all the hotter. But still, the wolf—and perhaps Draco, too—wanted to disregard his mother's warning.

"Very well, Draco," Narcissa said, rising regally from her seat. Draco noted the rigidity of her stance and knew she was still troubled. "I will take my leave. You have not seen Pansy or Blaise for quite some time. I'm sure you will want to catch up." She gave him a pointed look before turning to leave, as if trying to emphasize her displeasure. "And next time you decide to go out, do inform me. We will have to be more careful from now on, now that your presence has been confirmed in Britain."

* * *

Hours later, only Draco and Blaise remained. The time had been filled with Pansy's admonitions and then with light banter on what Pansy and Blaise had been up to, first in the salon and then in the dining room over dinner. Blaise had inherited his family business, a large conglomeration of vineyards, overseas banking, and part of the reduced but nonetheless profitable trade in black market magical goods. Pansy lounged around the Parkinson estate in France, living the life of an elite socialite while her parents struggled to find a good match for her. Conversation was easy and Draco realized he had missed this sort of interaction during the past few months.

None of the three brought up the war or Draco's condition, though the skill with which these topics were avoided informed Draco that it was on all of their minds. With Pansy's departure in the evening, Draco and Blaise settled in to their glasses of scotch companionably.

"Don't you wonder why she looks so terrified in those pictures?" Blaise questioned, gesturing to the table where the papers still remained. They had retired to the salon after dinner and lounged across from each other, with a light classical tune playing in the background. Blaise swirled the glass of alcohol in his hands.

"Shock, I assumed," Draco replied, sipping his own drink. He reached over to the table, pulling one magazine out from under the others. There she was, eyes trained on him and wide with fear. His stomach lurched unexplainably. He looked up at Blaise and the other man's knowing smirk told him something was being withheld. "You know why." His curiosity was piqued.

"Why don't you tell me why you were running about Diagon Alley first? Then maybe I'll consider telling you what I know."

Draco scowled. He had forgotten Blaise's penchant for extracting information precisely by withholding information. But for some reason, he wanted to know what had been on Ginny Weasley's mind more than he wanted to play Blaise's game. "You know what I am." Blaise nodded in acknowledgement. "I was searching for my mate." Draco didn't intend to reveal more than that, but Blaise cocked an eyebrow.

"Why? I'd think that shacking up would be the last thing on your agenda."

Draco rolled his eyes, trying to conceal his motives under the guise of nonchalance. "I have urges only a mate can satisfy."

Blaise shrugged, seeming to take his word for it. "Well now you'll have women queuing up for you, so it'll be much easier, won't it?"

Draco rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to take the hood off. I don't know how it happened, to be honest." He took a large gulp of the scotch, grimacing slightly. "Now that I've blown my cover, it'll be much harder to find her."

The ice in Blaise's glass tinkled slightly against the sides of the vessel. "And why's that?"

"Why don't you tell me about Ginny Weasley, first?" Draco leaned back, knowing that he had sparked enough interest in Blaise to warrant an answer to his question. The other boy tipped his glass toward Draco, conceding a form of defeat.

"She was there that night."

Draco choked and almost dropped his drink. "What?!"

"Quietly now, Draco," Blaise scolded playfully. His tone turned serious, "I don't think anyone knows except for me. But I saw Ginny Weasley there that night when Pansy and I rescued you."

Draco's mind was reeling. "You're saying that…she knows?"

Blaise shrugged coolly. "There's a chance. Which means that the reason she looks so scared…"

"Is because she knows what I've become," Draco finished. He knocked back the rest of his scotch, needing to numb himself. This changed everything.

"So why don't you finish what you were saying about your mate, now that that's out in the open?" Blaise's self-satisfied grin told Draco that his reaction was exactly what had been expected.

"Merlin," Draco managed, trying to collect himself. After a few moments, he replied, "I've found my mate already, but by scent. I wasn't able to see her at the time. And she…doesn't want anything to do with me."

Blaise's eyebrows flew up. "There's obviously more to that story." Draco shot Blaise a killing glare, effectively ending any hope of a continuation. The two sat in silence for several minutes as Draco leaned forward to refill his glass from the decanter on the table. He could not get Ginny Weasley out of his head. She was potentially aware of his condition. They were in the tabloids together. He squeezed his eyes shut as he resettled himself on the sofa. This was turning into a mess.

"You should use Ginny Weasley to lure your mate out," Blaise said suddenly. Draco looked him askance. "She might know about you, so it'll pay to keep her close. Even if she doesn't, the media has guaranteed that every witch and wizard in Britain thinks there's something going on between the two of you." Blaise paused to take a swig. "It might work. If you continue to cultivate the appearance of dating her, your mate will think you're not searching for her. She'll get lazy, complacent. Hell, she might even get jealous and come right out."

"That'll never work," Draco dismissed, but for some reason he was considering it. It was a crazy, risky plan. But he did not really have any other options, given that the paparazzi would be tailing him from now on. If he could wait out a few months, seemingly in a relationship…He tried to ignore the spike of eagerness he felt from the wolf at the prospect of seeing Ginny Weasley again.

"Just trying to help," Blaise said, still grinning, "Anyway, if you change your mind, I'd recommend paying a visit to St. Mungo's. You look like you need to see a good mediwitch."

Draco was about to ask Blaise what in the wizarding world he was on about before it clicked into place. St. Mungo's. Mediwitch. The white robes she had dropped. He'd been to the hospital enough in his youth to recognize those anywhere. He told himself it was of no circumstance whether Ginny Weasley was a Healer or not. But he knew he'd be finding an excuse to pay a visit to St. Mungo's soon enough.

* * *

**Author's Note****: There was going to be Draco/Ginny interaction in this chappy. There really was. But it was getting far too long, and this seemed like a really natural place for a chapter break. Seriously this story is taking on a life of its own! It won't even follow my plans. To satiate everyone's need for action, let's just say Draco gets a check-up next time ;)**

**Lots of plot development in this chapter :O Please, please review! I really do love to know what you think :)**


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